


The Third Degree of Denial

by rallamajoop



Series: Pants-onna-stick verse [2]
Category: Guilty Gear, Guilty Gear 2: Overture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-04
Updated: 2012-09-04
Packaged: 2017-11-13 12:52:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/503735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rallamajoop/pseuds/rallamajoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ky's trying to be helpful. Sol isn't. From an outsider's point of view, sometimes it's hard to tell the difference.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Third Degree of Denial

**Author's Note:**

> Request fic for yhibiki, who wanted Pants on a Stick-verse fic, with Sol flirting with Ky while Ky tries to help someone. Somehow, this is what resulted.

Mayor Kobolt had been having a bad day, worsening steadily since early morning, and only now culminating with what was just about the final straw: the king wanted to talk to him. He couldn't begin to imagine why. Surely talking to lowly commoners like mayors of outlying Illyurian towns wasn't kingly behaviour. He'd have thought any proper king would have had people to do ordinary things like _talking_ for him. 

He'd have thought that coming all the way out here in person to deal with a minor monster-infestation problem wouldn't have been kingly behaviour either. He couldn't very well have said anything like that though, oh no – he'd had to make a big song and dance about his undying gratitude on behalf of all the townsfolk that the king's men had arrived just in time to... clean up the last of the mess, as it turned out. And pry him with all kinds of awkward questions. 

Truth be told they were mostly very innocent, simple questions – or they would have been if they hadn't been coming directly from the king himself. 

“Above all, it's imperative we talk to anyone who can help us uncover where these creatures came from,” the king was saying, as the mayor jittered nervously and tried not to do anything that might seem unpatriotic. “I understand they were first sighted emerging from the wilderness from the south?”

“They just appeared! Out of _nowhere!_ ” The mayor spluttered. There was a danger he was making himself look very foolish and reactionary in front of the king – but even that paled against the very real danger the king would find out he'd been having _tea_ when the monsters showed up. He'd stopped as soon as he heard the ruckus outside, of course, but it couldn't reflect well on him that his town had come under attack while he was nibbling on a biscuit with a nice cup of milk-and-two-sugars. The monsters might have come from the south – they might very well might have come from the _moon_ , for all he knew. Right at the moment, he would have been lucky to be able to correctly distinguish up from down. 

At least the king had moved on from asking about casualties. He was quite positive the last thing wounded people needed was a _king_ coming around to check up on them. What if they weren't getting better fast enough? Did it count as treason to be ill in front of the king? 

The king looked sympathetic, which the mayor could only assume must mean he was doing something horribly wrong. 

“I want you to assure your people their safety is our first concern,” he said. “We will be stationing a temporary garrison here until we can be sure there won't be more of those creatures.”

The mayor fell back on making a lot of noise about gratitude and unworthiness. He supposed he could deal with a few soldiers around the place (nosing into things and reporting the slightest sign of unpatriotism straight to the king, no doubt) if he had to, though it was all so breathtakingly unnecessary. Those creatures couldn't have been all that dangerous – they'd gored a few people here and there, maybe, but he'd seen a little boy kill one by hitting it on the head with a flag, for crying out loud! There'd been that one big one, of course, but the unpleasant-looking man in the red jacket who'd shown up in the middle of things had taken it out in one hit, so clearly it couldn't have been all that dangerous either. 

The unpleasant-looking man in the red jacket would have been the _worst_ thing that had happened to him today if it hadn't been for the king showing up. Both he and the boy were still hanging around, and showing a truly despicable lack of respect for His Highness and the retinue of knights who'd accompanied him. (“Mum! Mum, didyouseedidyouseedidyousee?” the boy had yelled excitedly. “I killed a Gear! All on my own! Wham, right between the eyes!” The man had just rolled his eyes and tugged him back. “Can it kid, your Mum's working.” The mayor hadn't figured out exactly who the boy had been talking to – one of those shapely archer women in the king's retinue, presumably. The king had smiled at him though, which seemed to make the boy happy. He could understand that, it wasn't every day a real king smiled at you.) 

The man in the red jacket had the boy on a leash now, which worried the mayor a bit, but no-one else had commented, so supposed it was probably better not to be the one to draw attention to it. What worried him more was that he'd been positive he'd recognised the man's face from the first moment he saw him, and had been waiting desperately for anyone else around him to draw the same conclusion he had. No-one had. And he _knew_ no-one had, because no-one had so much as tried to arrest him yet. 

Could the king really be unaware of who was standing almost behind him? No-one in the king's retinue had spoken up, were they _all_ covering for whichever of the archers the boy had been speaking to? What if a man like that was so far below the king's standing that he hadn't even deigned to look him directly in the face? What if the mayor really was the _only person here_ who could raise the alarm?

He was already in deep water over the tea, he couldn't risk not speaking up about this! It was probably his patriotic duty. 

He swallowed nervously. Took a deep breath. Swallowed again. It didn't seem to help. 

“Sire, forgive my unworthy presumption,” he began, feeling horribly like the poor sod tasked with telling the emperor he wasn't wearing any clothes, “but isn't that...”

“I'm sorry?” the king seemed confused, possibly by how the mayor's eyes kept skittering over to the criminal and away. He couldn't say he cared at all for the way the man in the red jacket was watching the king. He didn't look the least bit concerned for his safety or liberty – quite the opposite, he looked entirely relaxed and distinctly pleased with himself. 

The mayor leaned in as close as he dared and pitched his voice low. “Isn't that _the notorious outlaw Sol Badguy_ , wanted in every country across Europe?”

It took only a moment for the mayor to realise his voice hadn't been pitched nearly low enough, because the way the outlaw was now smirking could only mean he'd heard every word. 

“Wanted nowhere more than here,” he grinned, crossing one leg over the other and lounging back against the wall behind him. The boy on the leash made a gagging noise. 

The king straightened, looking suddenly displeased. He didn't look over his shoulder. 

“Mayor Kobolt, perhaps there's been some sort of misunderstanding,” he said stiffly. “The man behind me is the heroic citizen responsible for arriving in the nick of time to defend the people of your town – at considerable risk to his own life and safety. This can't have escaped your attention.”

“Well, yes,” the mayor admitted, “but he's _also_...”

“I am _sure_ ,” the king went on, “an upstanding citizen such as yourself would have no cause to be so familiar with the faces of foreign criminals as to be able to be absolutely certain about the matter.”

The mayor started in alarm, petrified by the idea of what the king seemed to be suggesting. “N-no! Of course I wouldn't...!”

“I can only assume this is some minor case of mistaken identity,” concluded the king. “ _Clearly_ a dangerous criminal and the man to whom a large proportion of your townsfolk now owe their lives _could not_ be one and the same.”

Warring survival instincts granted the mayor the uncharacteristic ability to think very quickly. There had been a nuance to the king's tone that implied his 'suggestions' were the kind of suggestion only a king got away with making. 

“Of course, sire!” he squeaked. “Mistaken identity! That's bound to be all it was!”

And with that, the outlaw went right back to ignoring him. Why, if he didn't know better, the mayor would say he was looking at a man who was basking in the knowledge of a job well done and looking forward to receiving a quite _substantial_ reward. 

Oh. Oh _dear_. He could see what was going on _here_. No wonder the king was so upset he'd drawn attention to just who that man really was. 

That was it, there was a law that said a criminal couldn't be apprehended in the act of performing a civic service, wasn't there? One of those nasty relics from the Holy War that had yet to be written out of the books the way it so obviously ought to be. Killing monsters was almost definitely a civic service. There was probably an automatic bounty on the head of every one killed – even some sort of official commendation supposed to be awarded. So now the king and his men had travelled all this way, only to find the monsters they were supposed to deal with had already been slaughtered by a criminal who, legally, they couldn't even touch. 

No wonder the king had been so irritated when he'd made the mistake of bringing the matter up. The poor man was probably going to have to spend the rest of the time it took to get rid of Badguy pretending he didn't know exactly what was going on. 

The wave of sympathy he'd been feeling lasted exactly as long as it took the king to start talking again, then evaporated once more quite quickly. 

“My men and I,” the king was saying now, “shall have to intrude on the hospitality of your town for the night. It is far too late for us to make it back before dark.”

“Mm, hear that, little mayor?” said the outlaw. “You've got a _king_ to house for the night. Better make sure you get him the nicest room you've got. With the biggest bed too.”

The king coloured slightly. Most of his knights appeared to be taking great pains not to pay any attention. A little of the mayor's sympathy returned. 

“And will we be expected to find accommodation for this... hero too?” he asked, stiffly, because he wasn't fool enough to assume anything else. 

“Nah,” grinned the outlaw. “I can make my own arrangements.”

He probably meant the town brothel, the mayor thought, with no small disgust. Or that he was planned to run off in the night before his welcome wore out. It was embarrassing just how easy it was to understand what a man like him must be thinking. 

Strangely, something about his prior comment about finding a room fit for a king actually served to make Mayor Kobolt _less_ panicky about the task of finding suitable accommodation – their best hotel would surely do perfectly well. Sheer spite probably played a certain role in that, not that he ever did admit quite how big a role it was. 

Either way, the king seemed to be in a very good mood the following morning before he left, even despite the discovery that the outlaw was still hanging around, so the accommodations must have been entirely satisfactory. 

It all seemed like truly despicable behaviour, even for an outlaw. What was the world coming to when a dangerous criminal didn't have to do any more than dispose of a few dangerous monsters and save a few lives whenever the authorities showed up on his tail to be be practically handed an instant pardon? How was anyone supposed to run a kingdom with men like Sol Badguy showing up on your doorstep whenever you tried to get anything done? 

Perhaps he was feeling more inclined to be charitable now that the king was leaving and the tea incident still hadn't come up, but it was surely a credit to the king that he was able to deal with it all in such good humour. It must be a hard job, being king.


End file.
